Welcome Guest! If you are already a member of the BMW MOA, please log in to the forum in the upper right hand corner of this page. Check "Remember Me?" if you wish to stay logged in.

We hope you enjoy the excellent technical knowledge, event information and discussions that the BMWMOA forum provides.
Why not take the time to join the club, so you can enjoy posting on
the forum, the club magazine, and all of the discounts and benefits the BMWMOA offers?Want to read the MOA monthly magazine for free? Take a 3-month test ride of the magazine; check here for details.

If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You will need to join the MOA before you can post: click this register link to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

NOTE. Some content will be hidden from you. If you want to view all content, you must register for the forum if you are not a member, or if a member, you must be logged in.

When I started riding [1966].....Gas was 29 cents a gallon.
When the T.V. quit working, you didn't throw it away. You took the tubes out of it and went to the grocery store to check them on the tube tester. They almost always had the replacement tubes.
My parents were paying $125 a month for a 2 bedroom house close to the beach in L.A.
A new VW bug was $1095.
A new Honda was as low as $300.
We would cram 3 people into the trunk of the car and all 5 of us got into the drive-in for $2.00.
The 60's and early 70's were the best times I had.

We didn't have cell phones; we used two tin cans and a piece of string.

My daddy had to hike twelve miles through the snow just to shovel the driveway to the garage so he could get his bike out. And he duct-taped a piece of carpet over the plank.

My daddy had to hike twelve miles, uphill through snow and across a river to get to the outhouse. Afterwards, with the lightened load, he walked five miles to the garage, wrapped the plank in an old deer hide for the ride to work, in the coal mines.

My daddy had to hike twelve miles, uphill through snow and across a river to get to the outhouse. Afterwards, with the lightened load, he walked five miles to the garage, wrapped the plank in an old deer hide for the ride to work, in the coal mines.

Try telling that to the kids of today. They won't believe you...even if it was true.

When I started riding, 1957

No one cared that I did not have a drivers license. No one cared that the old Indian Chief I rode smoked and rattled. No one cared that I ran whatever tires I could find in the dump. No one cared that I took small children for rides. No one cared that I rode it to school with my .410/.22 in the scabbard strapped to it. No one cared that I rode across their land, because I never destroyed any crops or fences. No one cared that the helmet and goggle I wore came from my Uncle Jack's as a tank driver in Korea. No one cared what oil I put in it. No one teased me because I did not ride a Harley.

What do you mean, 'even if it was true'?
You can't believe that a guy what works in a coal mine can afford a property 12 miles by 5 miles, but not indoor plumbing?
dc

Dad only owned the property that the outhouse stood on. The rest of Grandad Bob's farm was sold to pay for Uncle Sam's surgeries after he fell-off the stable wall while Grammy Daisy was milking their only goat. Until he died, at age 94, Uncle Sam had a bit of that pitch fork stuck in his tailbone.

The outhouse sat between the farm property that Dad rented and the coal mine. The garage was rented from tight wad cousin Lester on Mom's side of the family, he drove a Hudson.

It was from the stearage births on the deportation ship that carried Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Seamus from Ireland to Australia. But, a few days out of port, the ship encountered a great storm and the fortunate dregs of the British Empire washed ashore in Newfoundland, just to spite the crown.

If not for that plank and a 1/2 keg of rum, Seamus wouldn't have lived to curse the British, again.